


Mischief

by Fantasy_Is_My_Reality



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasy_Is_My_Reality/pseuds/Fantasy_Is_My_Reality
Summary: Gimli, son of Gloin was bored, and when dwarves get bored, it usually involved a lot of pranking. Or more specifically, pranking Legolas the elf.





	1. Oh what to do on this boring day?

Gimli was bored. 

Looking around under his bushy, burnt-orange eyebrows, he searched lazily for something, or someone, to entertain him. And whenever the two words “dwarf” and “bored” or anything remotely like that was in the same sentence together, it meant somebody was either gonna run away screaming or crying, or huddle up in a corner and hope to Valar that they weren't going to find them.

The Company had been moping for the last couple of days, or resting as they liked to call it, and Gimli was getting seriously bored. Gandalf had insisted on letting Aragorn rest after an unexpected orc raid a couple of days ago, resulting him a serious, sprained ankle when he tripped over a root in the dark, along with a concussion after an orc bashed him on the head with the blunt of a heavy sword. And if that wasn’t terrible enough, a couple of their horses had ran away during the skirmish, along with about a third of their supplies, and Aragorn was surprisingly heavy to carry. 

So, for the last couple of dreadfully boring days they’ve been sitting on their arses waiting for the Ranger to heal at least enough to be able to limp along and for Gandalf to come up with a plan.

And currently, there were eight possible prankees for Gimli to toy with. 

Aragorn Estel, who had been crossed off his mind immediately. Pity, maybe next time, Gimli promised himself.

Gandalf the Grey, which honestly wouldn’t go down very well, whom Gimli then ruled of off his mental list of victims. 

Then there were the four hobbits; Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck or Merry as they called him, and finally Peregrin Took or otherwise known as Pippin (Sounded too much like one of those annoying birds for the dwarf’s liking), who was frankly, of a lesser intelligence than the rest of his companions. Frodo was much too important to be pranked, Gimli realized disappointingly, and so there was another option gone. The next hobbit, Sam, who was always by Frodo’s side and nearly impossible to separate, would have been a hard one to trick. The third halfling, Merry, in Gimli’s opinion, would probably not be a bad choice and he didn’t seem like a person to hold a grudge, so he went onto the ‘maybe’ list. And finally, Pippin. 

Ah Pippin, he would be an easy target, as he had graciously demonstrated in the Mines of Moria, thought Gimli with a wince. So off he went onto the list with Merry. 

So far, he had only found two. Moving on to the next people.

There was the other man. Boromir. He was usually frowning and seemed like the kind of guy who would cut off your beard if you accidentally bumped his drink. So nope. 

That only left one person to determine. Or more specifically, an elf. The moment the dwarf laid his eyes on that graceful figure he immediately wanted to dunk him in a pile of mud and hold him there until he started floundering like a fish. Some goblin mutant I am! Gimli recalled with a growl. There was something about that elf that made him want to mess up his perfect hair or rig his bow. It probably had something to do with his too-smug father Thranduil. And to be honest, he did give a single dead dog about what that pompous king thought. It would be a perfect opportunity for revenge, too. For locking his da up in a cell. 

Grinning like the Grinch, he tried to hide his smirk but only succeeded in looking weird, earning a few looks from the hobbit who were already wary of him and a raised eyebrow from Aragorn. 

Scanning the clearing where they had made camp, the dwarf searched for Legolas. Where in the name of Valar was that elf by anyway? No matter. Whatever, he didn’t need him here anyways. 

“Uh Gandalf!” He called to the robed-form standing over Strider. “I’m not feeling so well, I’m gon’ go get some fresh air,” he lied in his usual gruff voice. 

The wizard raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing look in his eye. “Alright Gimli. Just make sure to be careful out there. We wouldn’t want another accident to happen would we?” Gandalf said, looking down at a glaring Aragorn.

“Hmph!” Gimli grunted, as if he didn’t know better. 

Slinking out into the forest, the leaves a golden hue glinting in the sunlight as the sun started to set behind the mountain. He picked his way down to a nearby riverbed, not nearly as quietly as he would like mind you, but he would just have to hope that nothing unwanted heard him. Which included Legolas. 

Chuckling under his massive beard, he took out the sack he had hidden in his armor and started filling it up with the nastiest things he could find under the mud. He would get a little bit dirty, but it was never something that dwarves minded. But Legolas definitely would. 

Time to ruin his pretty little head, Gimli thought smugly, trying desperately to hold in his laughter.

While he was brooding over his evil plan, he didn’t notice a certain someone sneak up on him and watch him work over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. 

A hand fell upon Gimli’s shoulder and the shorter man shrieked the least manly sound the archer had ever heard, and nearly pitched himself into the water in surprise along with his precious bundle of mud and other horrible things. 

“Friend Gimli? What are you doing down here?” He tried to sound as normal as possible but seeing the usually undaunted Gimli so astonished made his insides hurt from holding back his laugh. But it seems like he probably didn’t do of very good job at it because Gimli looked like he wanted to much him in the face. More than usual at least. 

“Uuuuh I’m preparing a trap! For fish! In the river! You know those little flashy things that swim around? Yeah that’s it!” He complimented himself for his ‘amazing’ bluff.

This made Legolas even more incredulous than before, but he decided to humor his friend anyways. “I know what a fish is. But you're planning to make a trap by putting mud in a sack?” 

"Uh yes laddie! Now go away and stop bothering me. I can’t concentrate.” At the word ‘laddie’ Legolas couldn’t hide his smile, even though he was at least a thousand years older than him. Well, there was no reasoning with dwarves either way. Especially not this one.

“As you wish friend Gimli.” The elf stalked off to go do who knows what and Gimli returned to his ‘work’.


	2. The War has Started!

It was nighttime. 

Everybody was settling down around the fire; the four hobbits, Gandalf, Legolas, Boromir (Though he looked like he didn’t want to), even Aragorn, who had the help of Legolas, and finally, Gimli.

It was almost time for his plan to be carried out, and all he had to do now was make sure that Legolas didn’t get assigned the night watch. Though he couldn’t understand the point of even having one, as elves didn’t even need to sleep, and when they did, Gimli had always found it minorly disturbing. At least with Legolas.

But then Gandalf had said it wouldn’t be fair, and that they all had to carry their own weight, and now he was glad for the wizard’s refusal, or else pranking the prince would be nearly as hard as getting Gimli and Legolas to stop bickering. (Gimli did most of the bickering while Legolas usually stayed silent, making one or two comebacks once in awhile.)

They took turns making meals, and this time it had rotated to the elf, who made absolutely nothing with meat in it. Ever. 

Scowling, Gimli looked down at the wooden bowl that was handed to him, full of greens and berries. Though he would never admit it, it was actually quite good but he would still love to see some meat once in awhile. 

Darn elves and their soft hearts! No wonder why they were so skinny with their high cheek bones, all they ever eat is bloody elk food! Gimli grumbled to himself. 

After their meals were finished, it was time to go to sleep. Just as Gandalf began announcing the night watch, Gimli jumped in almost too enthusiastically, earning a few looks. It was well known that Gimli hated it almost as much as he hated sharing a horse with Legolas. It wasn’t fair, Legolas always got to sit in the front! He could never see anything over the taller man’s shoulder and he hated having to grab onto the other’s waist when the horse was galloping, or else he would bounce off like a beach ball.

“Hey Gandalf. I’ll be taking it tonight.” He said quickly, trying not to frown, for he hated it. It was so boring, all you ever did is walk around in circles all night and stare at the trees. Maybe other people liked the peace, but he definitely hated him. Nothing better than cutting off the heads of orcs!

Gandalf looked at him suspiciously. “Alright if you insist Gimli but I always thought you hated it.”

“Usually but I’m not tired today and I need to stretch my legs. It’s getting too cramped in here.”

No more questions were asked.

Rolling out their bags, everyone started to climb in and Gimli soon splashed a bucket of water over the fire, the entire time keeping an eye on the Prince of Mirkwood. 

Soon, the sound of their breathing leveled out and there was soon a rumbling snore, presumingly from Boromir or Aragorn, as he could never imagine anything as small as hobbits making such a monstrous racket, so loud that he thought every living soul in the forest would hear, and yet they complained about his snoring? 

“Hypocrites,” Gimli grouched under his beard.

After a few more rounds about the perimeter, the guard circled his way back to camp, squinting his eyes for a familiar bedroll. Though they had chosen a clearing, the moon was obscured under a blanket of fluffy, dark gray storm clouds and he cursed as he almost tripped over a half-buried boulder. Picking up the sack he had hidden in a hollow tree trunk, he made for camp. Unlike elves, dwarves did not have their keen eyesight or grace. Tumbling into the sleeping area, his booted foot landed on something squishy and he almost dropped his battle axe. A groan was heard in the dark and there was the sound of someone shifting in their sleep. He held his breath nervously until the noises died down once again. 

Muttering under his helmet he drew the bag closer to himself, careful not to drop it. Gimli strained his eyes and searched for a long body, taller than the hobbits and the same height as Aragorn. He shuffled past a couple of bags and suddenly he saw him. A little reflective blue from the full moon peeking out through the clouds, then disappearing just as fast, only giving him a glimpse of color. The rest of the figure was hidden in the shadows, but Gimli had enough of a look to realize that that sleeping form had clear, blue eyes, and that was all he needed to know. 

With a grin curling his lips, he rapidly dodge around the other forms, heightened by a slight twinge of excitement at the prospect of a little mischief. He’d been far too good for his taste the latter days. It was time for somebody to get a little bit dirty. Gimli stooped down, feeling around the area where he had seen the eyes until his glove hit something that felt like hair, though coarser and with a few more tangles than he had expected when he rubbed his fingers together. He had always thought that the honey-colored hair would feel just as it looked, but it wasn’t like Legolas had shampoo or anything out here, and he had never even seen the elf comb his hair once. It must’ve been magic or something of the like that kept his hair so neat. But this adventure had been getting to everyone, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise. Maybe it just looked better than it felt. 

Shrugging, it was none of his business and he didn’t care about anything other than his mission. He took off his glove, and Gimli reached into the depths of his bag and scooped up a generous amount of slushy liquid, carefully tended to during the day. Bending down, still with one one hand in the sleeping man’s hair he started to smear it though the strands, smirking contentedly as he did so. He dug around through the slush in his bag for a while, fishing up clumps of reed and other disgusting physical things he managed to find at the river. The dwarf made short work of it tying it to unlucky strands of hair and burying some close to his victim’s scalp, making it extremely annoying and difficult to wash out. 

Heheheh, he’s gonna get a big surprise when he wakes up! Serves you right you smug elf! Gimli thought wickedly in his head at the unsuspecting figure. 

After about a half an hour, his handiwork had been completed! Sadly, it had been dark throughout his little makeover, for the moon was too shy to show its face. Pity, he would have liked to see his job well done. 

Slowly he crept back out making sure not to wake anyone and crept away to bury the evidence. Still congratulating himself, he resumed his watch after a brief wash, humming merrily until the blood red sun began to creep up the treetops and the birds began to sing.


	3. Exposed!

A pair of very awake and very alert pair of fair, sapphire eyes watch the hunched figure was he whispered to himself over the exhausted and deeply asleep Gandalf. He dared not call out, for whatever Gimli was doing was obviously meant for him, and would probably roust the others from their well earned sleep. A quizzical look came across his fine features as he tried to figure out what in Valar Gimli was doing. He had noticed Gimli always staring at him the during the daytime ever since he discovered him at the bank, and the elf had already started to suspect something when he saw him doing what he could only describe as “playing with the mud”, and he’d been extra careful around him. The elf “watched” from his position from the ground, since it was nearly pitch black and even his eyes couldn’t see through it, and for a couple minutes longer the sound of wet mud being smoothed across a surface became apparent to his trained ears. And if it was any other day, Legolas would have gotten up and halted Gimli in his evil doing immediately, but seeing as he was fenced into the cave wall by the four hobbits and Sam was nearly sleeping on top of him, he could make no major movement without waking them. 

Gandalf would have a nasty surprise tomorrow, and the thought of a fuming wizard chasing after the short-legged dwarf really shouldn’t have made him smile.

Next time I’d better go pick a better place to rest, the prince thought amusedly and somewhat glumly as Sam rolled somehow even closer, nearly pressing him against the overhanging rock wall. Sighing softly, he shuffled awkwardly in his tight sleeping bag before managing to roll onto his side with his face practically inches away from kissing the cold wall. He was lucky he wasn’t claustrophobic. 

Soon, he too drifted off to the land of dreams as the sound of the footsteps of troublemaker receded into the distance.

He really should have been prepared, but he wasn’t ready to emerge from the wonderful dream about being back in the palace of Mirkwood with his father. 

A mighty roar shook the campsite and everyone bolted wide awake, as the sound of a furious wizard would have woken the dead. In an instant, Legolas realized what Gimli had been doing the previous night and was completely glad (and guilty) that it not happened to him once he saw Gandalf’s head covered in mud and bits of decomposing plant corpses. It looked as if he decided to dunk his head into a marsh and keep it there for a couple of days. 

“Who dared do this?” He hollered, and an wide-eyed Gimli sprinted out of the trees. 

“What’s wrong ‘ere Gandalf?” The archer saw astonishment flash in Gimli’s eyes but it was gone in an instant, as quick as it had appeared. He even had the audacity to look innocent. 

“You!” It suddenly seemed as if the old man had grown twice in size and towered over everyone in camp, and even Aragorn looked startled. He pointed a wizened finger at the even-smaller than before looking dwarf. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He bellowed, storming to stand tower over Gimli.

Legolas admired his courage but was expecting what was coming next, as he had often known that Gimli was an extremely accomplished liar. But apparently, not in this case as everyone was either staring at Gimli and Gandalf facing off or staring at Legolas beneath the trees. Aragorn mouthed something in elvish with a disbelieving looked on his face, leaning heavily on Frodo, but Legolas wasn’t paying attention to the future king. He was looking towards the scene with Gandalf the Grey and Gimli the Dwarf. 

“It wasn’t me!” Gimli protested, holding his hands up, but the wizard wasn’t biting the bait. Nor was anybody else. Boromir was obviously enjoying the showdown in by the sleeping bags, and the hobbits seemed captivated. 

“Then who was it dwarf?!” 

The moment before Gimli even opened his mouth he already knew whose name it was going to be. 

“Maybe it was Legolas? Who else could have snuck around he without being noticed? And he’s always had a knack for nature too.” All eyes turned on the man standing underneath the trees.

“Though I might have a “knack with nature as you so call it”, that does not mean I have a thing for mud Gimli, and I have better things to do than run around collecting mud. Besides, you were on night watch when it happened, and thus the only one supposedly awake at that time.” He replied smoothly. 

“Well we all know you lot don’t even sleep, you could have very well been up!” His face started to flush red, Legolas noticed in satisfaction.

“Then maybe you should have noticed it as it was your job.”

Silence ensued, and to those spectating it seemed like the two were having a telepathic staring contest.

Aragorn looked about and realized if something didn’t happen soon, a full on brawl would occur, and that was another headache the Ranger definitely did not need. He cleared his throat loudly and the tension was broken as if by a spell.   
“Maybe we should worry about this some other time, and instead worry about getting camp ready.” 

He started giving orders and suddenly the place was buzzing with activity. Gandalf retreated to go wash the muck off his beard and hair, while Legolas sprung off to go gather food without a word, leaving Gimli growling behind him. 

Though his face didn’t show it, the usually calm archer was silently seething. Quarrels with Gimli he could deal with, but not when it was set in front of the entire Fellowship like a comedy movie. 

He sat down heavily upon a rock staring at the opposite tree trunk, until he detected the light sound of the footsteps of a hobbit. 

The tall bushes quivered and the short brown-haired hobbit, Pippin, emerged from within the fronds, with a look on his face that spoke of trouble.


	4. Pippin's Comeback

It turns out, the hobbit was here for a ‘little’ chat.

About revenge.

It was later revealed by himself later on that Peregrin Took had been a notorious pranker back in the Shire, his tricks dreaded by all the older hobbits and famous with the teens and children.

Pippin just couldn’t resist the prospect of a good prank, and he would be able to witness it without taking any of the blame. Like Gimli, the constant peace was beginning gnawing at his bones. It was a win-win situation, at least mostly for him. Legolas gets that long desired revenge of his (Though he denies that he had ever thought of anything of that sort), and he would get a chance to witness what would be no doubt a once-in-a-lifetime chance of comedy. 

After about an hour of prodding and urging, he finally managed to get the prince on board with his idea, even if it was just to get him out of his hair, the subject that had caused so much chaos in the first place.

But to be honest, Legolas was a not a big fan of pranks, primarily after the incident with his father as a kid, which had earned him a vicious trip over his dad’s knee that ended in tears and a sore bum for about a week.

~Flashback~

A couple of the other elflings thought it would be hilarious to prank Legolas’s father, the King.

The best part yet, Legolas, or “Leggy” as they had called him back then, would be the one to do it. And they would get off without any trouble. Also since Legolas was his son, King Thranduil would probably punish him less severely if he was caught or something unexpected happened.

They were wrong.

What they wanted Legolas to do was to was sneak spiders into the presence of the King. Meaning run overhead on the indoor balcony above Thranduil’s feasting hall and throw down spiders. Why they decided to do that was beyond anyone's’ comprehension.

The one thing elves hated the most was spiders, especially in Mirkwood. 

Thranduil wasn’t particularly scared of spiders, more along the lines of hating them because he said they were “annoying”, but when someone throws spiders at you any sensible person would get away from it as soon as possible.

But the story happened like this.

The Elven King was having one of his usual feasts after a successful eradication of a overpopulated nest of giant spiders, that had been too close to the border and particularly aggressive to everything that wandered into the forest, from elves to travelers to animals. 

The other elflings pressured Legolas to strike there and then, in front of the whole house to see while they hid in the shadows.

So he did.

Carrying the jar carefully outwards he ran past soundlessly, the sound of merrymaking far too strong for the Prince to be heard either way. He bolted his way across the overhanging with his arm holding the open jar of spiders over the railing, and just as he was about to pour some, he tripped over a towel left by one of the maids, and the entire jar went tumbling down, the little arachnids flying everywhere (The original plan was to just sprinkle a few), leaving the princeling stunned speechless a few seconds too many.

If the ongoing party had not been preoccupied, they would have noticed the onslaught of tiny black dots about to descend on their heads. 

And it just so happened that Thranduil was looking the other way as he raised his goblet to his lips, where the first couple of bugs had landed a few seconds ago as he was holding it. No one else had seen it either, for they were looking towards the shrill screaming coming from the kitchen where the other children had hidden in the shadows.

“A! Ada! Vá yuln tanya!” (Ah! Dad! Don’t drink that!) A panicked voice rang out from above.

Alas, he was a couple seconds too late, and the rest of the party was being attacked by clumps of wriggling, black devils.

If one had looked through the window of the palace, they would have seen a bizarre scene in deed. 

Food was knocked everywhere and the usually graceful elves were scrambling around shouting angrily at each other, while the King spluttered over the table, face as red as a tomato from fury. 

Chairs were overturned everything escalated as golden-armored guards came pouring in to aid their Lord, thinking that there had been an attack.

Meanwhile, the younger and less wise version of Legolas stood on wooden legs immobilized, and the rest of the elflings had long since fled from the site, leaving him to take the brunt of the blame.

After everything was cleared up in about an hour, Thranduil was definitely not in a good mood like he usually was after a feast, and instead sought out his son for a well-deserved lesson.

He eventually found him hidden in the boughs of a large oak tree, and needless to say, Legolas was sent to his room limping and bawling, carrying a week-long burning backside while his dad stormed off back to his own chambers. 

~End of flashback~

 

Every since that episode, he had not dared to pull another trick on anyone, and had avoided his father for five days after the incident. 

But that was beyond the point now.

He never went back on his word, which he had now promised to Pippin.

Sighing, the prince cupped his face in his hands and tried to forget the painful memory, no doubt Gandalf’s hand could probably be just as harsh as his father’s hand if he wished for it too be.

Pippin, who was now suddenly unusually observant, could see Legolas’s doubts and started talking just before the archer could change his mind.

“Well what type of stunt do you wanna pull?” The Took asked, leaning in a little too close just to distract him.

“I don’t want to pull anything on Gimli,” he mumbled through his hands.

“You promised!” 

Knowing Pippin would just continue to nag him until he picked something, racked his brain trying to think of the least damaging thing he could pull on Gimli.

“Alright. Um maybe I could put dirt in his food?” And make it even filthier than it already is, he smirked silently.

“Are you joking? That’s it? It looks like you’ll need more help than I thought,” he said beaming, and at that point Legolas knew he was going to be screwed over by Gimli by the end of this.

“Okay so what does Gimli like?” Pippin asked, cocking his head.

“Uh….his axe?”

“No he needs that for fighting, so we can mess that up,” the hobbit dismissed. 

All Legolas wanted to do was get out of this mess, and just pretend none of this conversation ever happened, but Pippin wasn’t letting him off.

“I’m not gonna let you go until you think of something.” And it was really hard to think of anything when Pippin was staring at him like that, despite him only being half the elf’s height.

He contemplated tossing him in a sack into the river, but concluded that it probably wouldn’t slide with Gandalf or any of the other hobbits.

Eventually, Pippin’s rare patience finally won out, and the prince let out a despairing sigh. 

“Fine. He likes his beard I guess.”

Anybody who’d been watching them would have thought that Pippin won the local Shire lottery from the look of his face.

“That’s perfect.”


	5. Retaliation Complete

“Cut it off?!” Legolas nearly shouted in surprise. “Can’t I just braid it or put dirt in it?”

“Nope! Come on, it’ll be fun!” Pippin said, much too happily.

“But he loves his beard! He’ll have my head!” He was nearly pulling his own hair out of his scalp in distress.

“No he won’t! Not if he doesn’t find out you did it!”

Legolas couldn’t have been more nervous if he was having a personal meeting with his father after running away for a couple of days (Like he often did when he was younger.). 

“Who else would do it? I’ll be the only suspect!” He retorted, hoping to shut down the idea before it became engraved into the Took’s head, but it was too late. Hobbits could be extremely stubborn when they wanted to be.

“You could always blame it on someone else,” Pippin looked at him with a face that spoke of evil.

“Who else?”

“Boromir.”

Now Legolas didn’t know a lot about the human, other than that he could be very obstinate shown by his actions during Lord Elrond’s council, and that he didn’t really seem to like anyone in the company.

But still, the elf didn’t want to frame him, even if he did act like a jerk sometimes. 

As if Pippin could read his mind, he quickly said, “There wouldn’t be anyone else. You wouldn’t want to frame Aragorn would you? And you want your revenge don’t you?”

“Not really…”

“Fine!” Pippin exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air. “Let it be known from this day forth that Prince Legolas would not retaliate to a attack to his pride from a dwarf!”

That was the last straw.

“Okay okay! But it’s on you!” He pointed at Pippin.

“Alright. Here’s what you have to do…” He pulled Legolas down by his tunic and started whispering in his ear.

***

The sun had climbed up into the middle of the sky by the time Legolas and Pippin returned to camp, not both at the same time of course.

Legolas hid his disappearance in an armful of vegetables and berries, and attempted not to look tense as he strolled into the clearing, refusing to make eye contact with Gimli nor Boromir, who was sharpening a dagger in the shadows of the trees.

The sound of scraping metal on metal made the man no less intimidating. The branches laden with lush leaves, rattled too loudly as Pippin peeked out from its depths and jerked his head towards their collective packs. Wincing, he plopped the food down and grabbed his own bag, searching for scissors, his two knives would be a last resort.

A gleam of silver peeked out from underneath his stash of clothes, the small pair of sewing scissors he’d brought just in case, and the elf found that he was both relieved (For not having to dig through someone else’s pack) and crestfallen for not being able to back out.

But not that his pride would have let him anyways.

Pippin gave him a thumbs-up and melted back into the whence he came, to do Valar knows what.

Legolas shoved the scissors in his pocket, checking to make sure nobody saw him. Now all that was left was to wait until nightfall to make his move.

***

Soon, it had seem to the Prince that the hours passed by too quickly and the late dusk sky was rapidly dropping over their heads. 

The fire was put out and luckily or unluckily, Pippin was sent out for the watch. At least it would deter suspicion from Legolas. 

He lay in his bedroll uncomfortably (This time noticeably farther away from the overhanging wall), waiting patiently for his companions’ breathing to slow.

Finally at last, it seemed like the last of the Fellowship had fallen asleep before he was certain that he could make his move.

Still fully dressed, the archer rose to full height under the full moon and stepped delicately around the strewn limbs on the dirt ground, listening and following the monstrous snoring of the dwarf. 

It wasn’t very hard to find him, and his tangled, red beard stood out in the moonlight. Legolas didn’t even need his elvish sight or supernatural hearing to find him.

His breathing start to grow short and his heart pounded in his chest, mortified by the notion of waking Gimli or any of the others and being caught red handed. 

Taking a strand of red hair in his palm, he held the scissors up, wavering with apprehension. 

The scissors closed and Gimli’s facial hair drifted to the ground. Well, there was no going back now.

After a long and horribly tense while, he had finally completed his task. Legolas stood up, gazing down at Gimli, whose cheeks and chin were now as naked as a molerat.

He seemed like a chubby man-baby to Legolas without his beard. It was utterly hilarious.

Even two thousand years of agonizingly practising self-control under Thranduil couldn’t have stopped him from letting out a few muffled laughs from his lips. By the time Legolas was was able to calm himself down, his chest hurt from trying so hard not to make a sound and his lungs were heaving for air.

Still, it wasn’t over yet. 

Trying to tuck a pair of scissors under Boromir’s pillow was harder than it had looked. The human was hugging it in both arms and head and seemed to be cuddling it more than sleeping on it. And every time Legolas touched him would make some alarming noise or movement that had the elf scrambling for cover. 

After an incredible amount of grappling with the sleeping man and not waking him at the same time, Legolas eventually managed to slip the tool under his head, along with a couple lone hairs as well, then distributing some on his clothes.

By that time, he felt like a half-drowned rat, and even more so when he remembered he had to dispose of the rest of Gimli’s now detached beard. 

Just as he was walking back to the “crime scene”, as he would forever call in his mind, a drowsy voice behind him made him freeze in his tracks.

“What are you doing up so late Legolas?”

It was Aragorn.

A few seconds after his heart stopped beating against his ribcage he finally found the courage to reply.

“I-I’m just getting some air Estel. No need to worry. Go back to sleep,” he said looking over his shoulder, praying that Strider wouldn’t notice the pile of beard by Gimli.

“M’kay just don’t stay out too long…...” The Ranger’s eyes were already closing and he dropped back onto his bed, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

Legolas waited a few minutes just to make sure. 

Gimli was still dreaming peacefully, grumbling something about “elves and their stupid hair” and how he wanted to eat fish.

Legolas scooped up the leftovers and threw it downstream after a short walk, glad that he didn’t bump into Pippin on his way there and back. 

But there was no way he was going to be able to sleep that night. Partly out of guilt, and partly because of the mental image of Gimli’s new makeover. Mostly because of the latter though.


	6. Red Beard Gone

The birds were singing a sweet tune from their nests and a slight wind flowed lazily through their camp. Aragorn was sitting quietly in conversation with Gandalf, the three Hobbits still dozed and was joined by Pippin, back from night patrol. Legolas was nowhere to be found and Boromir was preparing for the fire for their meals. 

Nobody noticed Gimli. 

Yawning and stretching, the dwarf rolled up his sleeping bag, feeling like today was going to be a particularly good day after a deep, dreamless sleep. 

He’d never been more mistaken in his entire life.

“Good mornin’ Gandalf, Aragorn.” He thought it was going to be a good day until he noticed that the had both stopped speechless, staring at his face as if he’d grown an extra eyeball on his nose.

“What?” 

Neither of them said anything, but he didn’t like either of their expressions. As if sensing the awkwardness, Boromir turned around as well, jaw dropping open in surprise.

“WHAT?! What are you people staring at?” He questioned a bit louder now, their combined silenced was grating on his nerves. His voice attracted the hobbits, and Pippin struggled to keep silent, but in the end, failed. He was joined by Merry and the rest.

Aragorn said nothing, instead pointed at Gimli’s chin, where his beard should have been.

“What never seen a beard bef-” his hand grasped empty air as he felt for the missing hairs.

“Wha- it was- how-” It had never occurred to Gimli once in his entire life that anyone would sabotage his hair, his most prized possession.

He froze, not letting out even a breath as the realization sunk in. The whole forest had gone quiet as if sensing a ticking time bomb. 

Nobody within a one-mile radius even had time to seek cover before it exploded. 

“LEEEEEEGGGGOOOOLLLLLAAAAASSSS!!!!!!!!” 

The trees seemingly rattled with Gimli’s mighty bellow, birds flocked up into the air and fled squawking as if Sauron was on their trails, and his intended person heard it as well, as you had to be deaf not to hear his cry. 

“Where is he?! Where is that bloody wood-elf?! I will rip his hair out of his pretty head!” The entire Fellowship cringed, the hobbits wilting with fear and even the two men and Gandalf the Gray seemed to be affected by his fury. 

Gimli’s entire face, now depleted of half of the hair he had set out with from Rivendell, was the color of the flames of Mount Doom, and suddenly facing the armies of bloodthirsty orcs seemed a safer choice than to face the dwarf’s wrath. 

Legolas, who had come running despite the obvious anger directed towards him, slipped back into the camp silently without any attention.

“WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THAT STUPID ELF?!” He repeated with renewed vigor, this time directed towards the remaining company.

Gimli glared at Strider, who tried not to look too suspicious and just shrugged, and gave a soft, “I’m not sure Gimli.”

Just as his gaze swept around the room for clues to Legolas’s whereabouts, he spotted something red on one of the bedrolls. Something the hue of his lost beard. 

It was strands of it.

On Boromir’s bedroll.

Once Legolas had deemed it safe to expose himself, judging by the look on Gimli’s face as he now fumed at the human, the elf let a twig crunch underfoot as he moved into view.

“Here I am. I heard you calling and I came back.” He hoped the anxiety didn’t appear in his voice.

“And what were you doing?!” Gimli spun around accusing him.

“I was just searching for food.”

It didn’t look like Gimli completely bought the lie, but now he thought he had found the taker of his beard and was too fueled by rage to care about anything else.

“You! You’ll pay for this!” Even though Gimli was nearly half his height he was no less menacing, even without his battle ax. 

He stormed over to the human, Frodo and the rest backing away, and yanked him down to eye level, pulling back a fist.

Now, the man had seen a lot of death and war before, but Boromir had never felt as scared as he was now facing off against a vengeful warrior dwarf.

“I-It wasn’t me!” He spluttered, holding up his hands in surrender.

Gandalf, who had been watching both interestedly and silently from the background stepped forward to stop Gimli from breaking the innocent’s nose and face. 

“Now Gimli, I’m sure it was just a good-natured prank, he was probably just avenging me after your little…..incident there.” The old wizard used his staff to put some distance between the two.

“You’ll grow it back good as new, now. Let’s not do anything hasty.”

Growling, after a moment deciding whether or not to risk Gandalf’s spells or to just back off, his common sense convinced him in the end that it wasn’t worth being transformed into something unnatural.

Gimli took a couple steps back but never broke eye contact with Boromir.

“Mark my words human, you haven’t seen the end of this yet!” He spat shaking a gloved fist in front of his face, marching off to go brood over some vengeance. 

After the storm cloud blew away, all eyes were turned towards Legolas once again. There was that knowing look on Gandalf’s face that made him want to hide in a hole and stay there.

Boromir most likely already suspected, too, but he said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes of what he didn’t voice.

And from the looks Gandalf and Aragorn were giving him, it really wasn’t really hard to guess what was going on in their minds, either.


	7. Score Evened

The Fellowship had resumed their journey once again, and after an exhausting three-day march North out of the woods and across a stretch of rolling plains they finally came to a stop in a sparser, but no less merry, patch of woods. 

Boromir, who Gimli had avoided for the entire seventy-two hours, finally caught up with him after they had set up their beds and tools.

“Look Gimli, I know what it looked like, but I swear it was not me who did it,” the man spoke from behind Gimli’s back.

The dwarf spun around with startling speed to pin him with a scowl that would have curdled fresh milk. 

“Then who was it?” He was standing so close that the human could smell Gimli’s breakfast on his breath.

“Who else would it be? Of course it was Legolas! After the whole thing with Gandalf who else would possibly do something like cut off your beard?” One could never tell whether Gimli really didn’t know or he was just acting.

Whether it was true or not Gimli didn’t mind, still wanting to make-up for the first failed attempt. 

“Fine then. So the elf did it. What are we gonna do ‘bout it?” Gimli looked up at Boromir, a spark in his eye that would have sent even his friends running. 

“We? What do you mean we?”

“Well for starters lad, he framed you and cut off my beard. That alone is gonna earn that stupid elf prince a good prank!”

It didn’t take much convincing for Boromir to agree to “assist” Gimli in his revenge. He never liked Legolas much anyways, so he wouldn’t be losing any sleep over some payback. 

How they were going to that was yet to be decided.

The sun shone high above their heads and the wind chased the clouds across a backdrop of light blue, and all was peaceful for the time being. 

An “intricate” plan was woven from the combined minds of Man and Dwarf, which involved nothing short of lots of brute strength and less brains. The Elf was deemed too sneaky and too watchful to outsmart, so the duo had resorted to a simple yet in the whole enjoyable prank for them at least, involving bees and a lake. 

A colony of bees buzzed on a medium-sized oak tree, busy with attending the Queen. The hive hung just over the way to a glittering lake on a thin branch hidden by a bundle of thick leaves. The two sides of the thin path were lined with rocks and other hazardous things, but in the middle, it was wholly safe and well-trodden by travelers before the Fellowship. It was a one-way path straight to the water.

The only part left was the find someone to help lead Legolas away from camp, most likely one of the hobbits.

In the end, Gimli managed to only convince (bribe him with extra food) Meriadoc Brandybuck, the others not willing to risk Legolas’s wrath. 

It was right before a quarter to dusk when Merry burst into camp out of breath and sweating, calling out to Legolas, who was checking his arrows and bow by the fire.

“Legolas! I found something that you should probably come and check!” He shouted.

“What is it?” The elf looked up from his task.

“I think it’s an elf!” Merry shouted hurriedly, feigning anxiety.

Before the hobbit could even open his mouth once again, Legolas had sprung up and dashed to the path, with Merry following his footsteps, smirking silently to himself.

“It’s down the path!” Merry yelled from behind him as Legolas gradually gained distance, his shorter legs working to keep up with the wood-elf’s longer strides. 

Seeing the tree appear as they ran down the path, Merry silently, the way only a hobbit could, started to scampered the other way, hoping that Legolas wouldn’t turn his head.

He did, but much too late. 

With one swift chop, Gimli severed the branch from the other side of the wide trunk and bolted away from the scene, letting out a cackle as he did so. 

The hive dropped, the sound of bees became deafening, and though Gimli couldn’t see through the leaves and bushes very well, he could still clearly hear Legolas’s high-pitched howling and see glimpses of his flailing, and the noises soon became distant as the archer made a beeline for the lake.

Merry ogled (a little bit guiltily) as the prince danced around, waving his arms frantically over his head squealing and cursing in Elvish.

All the lacerations from the thorn bushes and pointed rocks were worth every wound to Gimli as he hopped onto the path, watching from a safe distance as the struggling elf was tackled by Boromir at the water’s edge, hurling both him and his wailing victim into the rippling waters.

“WHA-” Legolas didn’t even get to finish his sentence before his head was submerged a second time by Boromir, and there they stayed for as long as their breath allowed them.

By that time, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Aragorn, and even Gandalf had rushed to the lake, where the wizard promptly sent the bees away with a spell. No creature in the forest could have missed the elf’s ruckus.

Aragorn plunged both of his arms into the depths and dragged out a very satisfied-looking man and an unrecognizable hunk of elf, his hair undone and plastered to his face and with quite a few swollen stings on his face and body. 

Immediately, Legolas latched himself to the closest thing that happened to be Aragorn’s legs, and absolutely refused to let go, making incoherent whimpers and imprecating dwarves and men and hobbits. 

It took about an hour to pry him off, Aragorn having to walk all the way back to camp with Legolas clinging to his legs while Gandalf dealt with the troublemakers, tailed by Frodo, Sam, and Pippin all trying to but failing to hold back their guffaws. Then it took another hour to treat the stings and for everyone to calm down.

The next following days were a complete disorder as one prank and another would be fired across all member of the nine, Legolas never really forgetting or forgiving what he now calls the “lake and bees incident”, and none of the others forgetting it either. 

It was certainly something that would be passed down for generations.


End file.
